The Dead Owl or The Time Snape Lost It
by Simplicity512
Summary: Something funny, something witty. What happened to Snape's owl that was killed by Hermione's Kitty?


**_The Dead Owl or The Time Snape Lost It_**

**(Disclaimer to Monty Python for the Dead Parrot Sketch and to JK Rowling for everything)**

**Just… read. Oneshot and completely non-compliant to anything. When did this happen? Sometime during third year. **

…

Snape was in a foul mood. His throat had been particularly soar that morning and he wasn't going to be messed around with. His owl, to put it simply, was dead. Its death was brought on by one of his student's half-kneazle. Why did the Board allowed that demon in disguise into the school? He didn't know. Kneazles, half or not, were foul creatures at best. Their bunched up noses and abundance in termite producing hairballs that appear out of nowhere and are rather shocking to step on in the middle of the night were but a small perk to their characters in the whole. It was because of a certain half-kneazle that his owl, Catcher, was dead. Actually, no it wasn't. The owl was already dead with the filthy orange fiend attacked it. And that was the main reason he was striding furiously through the brightly lit streets of Diagon Alley in the morning before the witches came out to shop.

He was going to get another owl. He came to the door of Eeylops Owl Emporium and stepped inside. Slowly, he advanced on the front counter; switching the cage draped in black into his other hand. He saw the back of the worker and resisted the urge to smirk at the woman.

"I wish to make a complaint." He said crisply. When the woman did not respond, he reached over and poked her gently on the shoulder. "Hello, miss?"

To his horror, a man turned around. "What do you mean by 'Miss'?"

"Sorry, I've caught a cold." _Good one, Snape. Any other foul ups you wish to make known?_ He thought sarcastically. "I wish to make a complaint."

"We're closed for lunch."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You just opened. But never mind that. I wish to complaint about this owl." Dramatically, he pulled back the black drapery to reveal the brightly colored bird with its feet up and contorted.

"Ah! The Norwegian Rye Owl." The man's eyes brightened. "Uh… what's wrong with it?"

"Its dead. That's what's wrong with it." Snape said removing the rest of the drapery and letting it fall to the floor.

The man shook his head skeptically. "No! He's just… resting."

"Look, my good sir, I know a dead owl when I see one and I am looking at one right now."

"He's not dead. I assure you, he's simply just resting. Lovely owl, beautiful feathers…"

Snape rolled his eyes. "The feathers have nothing to do with anything. Its stone dead."

"He's resting!" The man said again.

If Snape had known that Rita, in the form of a beetle, had been listening just a few feet away, he would have simply left the owl and returned to Hogwarts owlless. However, he didn't know this fact and would forever wish he didn't react the way he did.

He raised both eyebrows at the man. "Alright then, if he's asleep, I'll wake him up." He lifted the cage to the point he was eye to eye with the dead bird. "Hello, Mister Catcher! I've got a nice plump mouse if you wake!"

The cage was bumped and Snape looked just in time to see the man's hand return to his side.

"There he moved!" The man exclaimed.

"No he didn't! That was you hitting the cage!"

"I never!" The man said indignantly.

"Yes, you did. Don't you deny it." Snape growled.

"I didn't do anything…" The man tried saying, but Snape ignored him and continued yelling.

"Good morning, Catcher the owl! Its time to get up! Its time for the mail!" Snape then did something that would forever be remembered as The Time Snape Lost It. He undid the latch on the cage and lifted the owl out of it and began banging it against the counter. Much to Rita's and the man's surprise. "Wake up!" He threw it up in the air and all pairs of eyes watched as it thudded on the ground. Snape stood silent for a moment before turning to the man. "Now that is what I call a dead owl."

Shaking from his shock, the man stumbled for words. "H-he's st-stunned."

Snape's eyes widened with fury. "STUNNED?"

Since he had nothing else to go on, the man nodded and continued to explain. "Yeah! You stunned him when he just waking up! Norwegian Rye owls stun easily, sir."

Snape pointed a long, threatening finger at the man. "I am defiantly done with this." He pointed at the owl without breaking eye contact. "That owl is deceased and when I purchased it not two days ago, you assured me that its total lack of moment was because it was tired and shagged following a prolonged hoot!"

"He must be pining for the Fjords." The man said almost in a whisper. This black clothed fellow most certainly frightened him.

Snape's eyes narrowed and his vocal cords raised up a few notches. "PINING FOR FJORDS! What the hell is this about? If he's pining, why did he fall straight onto his back the moment I returned to Hogwarts?"

The man paled visibly then made something up. "The Norwegian Rye Owl prefers to keep on its back. Lovely owl, isn't it? Beautiful feathers…"

Snape, at the point, turned vile and began to snarl. "I took the liberty to examine this owl and found that the only reason it was even sitting on its perch was because it had been, in a muggle fashion, nailed there."

There was a thick pause before the man, gaining a little heart, replied,

"Well, of course it had been nailed there. If it hadn't been nailed there, it would have nuzzled up to the bars and broke them with his beak. He would have caused all sorts of hells! Voom!" He gestured with his hand and nearly hit Snape in the nose.

"This owl wouldn't voom even if you put several Crutatious curses! He's bleeding demise!"

"He's pining!"

"He's not pining, he's passed on!" Snape grabbed the counter with both hands to keep them from going for his wand. "He has ceased to be! He has expired and gone to meet his maker! He's so stiff!" Snape picked up the owl. "Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed him to the perch, he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now part of wizarding history! He's off the twig! He's kicked the cauldron! He's shuffled off his mortal quill, run down the hippogriff and joined the choir invisible! This is an EX-OWL!" Snape's nose flared and his eyes danced dangerously as he panted slightly. A heavy silence filled the room. Saved for na annoying ticking sound. Snape ignored it and stared angrily at the man.

"I better replace it then." The man said quietly. He turned around and scanned the shop. Then, very pale, he turned back to Snape and mumbled, "Fresh out of Norwegian Rye Owls, sir."

"I see, I see… I get the picture." Snape bit sarcastically.

"I've got an armadillo." The man said with an oddly hopeful smile.

Snape looked at him. "Does it deliver mail?"

"No, not really." The man admitted.

"THEN ITS HARDLY A REPLACEMENT THEN, IS IT?"

"No… not really…" The man said ashamedly and looked down at his feet. Rita almost thought that the Potion's teacher was going to say something else and even tried to stop her legs from clicking to listen.

"Do you… want to have tea with me?" The man said looking up shyly. Rita couldn't believe her antennas! If a bug could smile, she most certainly was.

Snape looked as though he was ready to pop. In a matter of a mere seconds, his expression both changed and softened. "Yea, alright, sure."

Rita watched in juiced up horror as the Potion's teacher and the shop owner went out the door and locked it behind them. She was not at all paying any attention to the Norwegian Rye, because she thought it was dead. It was in fact, only stunned. Silently, it crept forward, its keen yellow eyes fixed on the large, colorful bug. When Rita noticed a looming shadow, it was too late. A bright orange beak came down and pecked at her. In a flourish, Catcher swallowed Rita whole and was happily cleaning its blue, red, purple and green feathers.

**Not what you were expecting was it? J Well… I hope it was enjoyable. Can you get all the references? Review with your answers. **


End file.
